


I tried hard (you know I care)

by Cougar_car



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Mission: Impossible, Mission: Impossible (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Ethan Hunt, BAMF Tony Stark, Brandt and Barton don’t like each other, Canon Divergence - Iron Man 1, Clint Barton is NOT William Brandt, Crossover, Dark Tony Stark, Ethan Hunt-centric, Evil Tony Stark, Gen, Gen Fic, Identity Porn, Loose Morals, Merchant of Death Tony Stark, Mind Games, Morally Grey Tony Stark, No Slash, Past Torture, Post-Mission: Impossible - Fallout (2018), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Avengers (2012), Protective Jarvis, Sci-Fi, Secret Identity, Snarky Jarvis, Teambuilding, They ARE brothers, Tony Has Issues, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Doesn't Like Being Handed Things, Tony Stark Has Trust Issues, Tony Stark-centric, Villain Tony Stark, Violence, not actual porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2019-07-08 16:26:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15934142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cougar_car/pseuds/Cougar_car
Summary: Iron Man was a villain, but not the average type that specialized in robbing banks and stealing purses. No, instead, he was the type that preferred to terrorize cities and play with secret organizations—namely, S.H.I.E.L.D. However, despite the many attempts at discovering his true identity, nobody knew that he was actually Tony Stark—current CEO and weapons manufacturer of Stark Industries.After the Avengers continuously failed in eliminating the newfound supervillain, Agent Ethan Hunt and his team were sent in to help discover who Iron Man really was. And hopefully, their added ability will assist the Avengers in neutralizing him once and for all. But despite what they might think, the IMF had no idea what they were getting into.No slash, pre-Avengers.





	1. The Mission

**Author's Note:**

> I made this story because I needed it to exist. Everything will be told in either Tony’s or Ethan’s POV because they are my favorites. There is no updating schedule, so chapters will kind of just pop up out of nowhere. Also, the M:I timeline will be shifted to match the MCU timeline. Constructive criticism is highly appreciated, and if anything is wrong / incorrect (a date, an event, or anything else that doesn’t match up), then please let me know. Now, on with the story.

Ethan was seated in a nice little coffee shop in London when he first received the mission’s instructions. Before getting said instructions, he had been resting pleasantly in a chair that held only the slightest creak, sipping on a fresh frappé that heated up the cup which it sat in to a rather comfortable level. It was late in the night, the cracked-open windows letting in a gentle breeze that with it carried the scent of the lively city outside. It was raining, the soft sprinkle of water disturbing the cool puddles that still riddled the streets from previous storms. The honking of impatient drivers and the splashing of cars running through water was only white noise in the distance, as it did little to break the silence that sat deep within the coffee shop.

Ethan sighed, carefully taking it all in as he leaned his head back and wondered how many people sat like that every night, watching sports or soap operas or whatever else on their HD televisions. While he appreciated the deep sense of calm that was at an almost palpable level, he knew that he would never be satisfied if he lived with it every day. Things like that lost their touch when experienced frequently, and besides, Ethan preferred living on the edge, where he would run on nothing but adrenaline and determination, as well as the strong loyalty he felt for his team. But still, it wasn’t a bad thing if he could just sit down and truly enjoy himself alone from time-to-time.

After a few more moments of peace, Ethan felt a light tap on his shoulder, which briefly brought his attention to the fact that he was still wearing the clothes from yesterday’s short mission. Ethan quickly dismissed the thought, however, when a familiar yellow package was shoved rather unceremoniously into his left hand—the one that wasn’t currently holding a hot beverage.

Ethan set his drink down abruptly, his eyes flying up to meet the face of the person who stood in front of him, both men remaining completely silent. But by the time his eyes finally made it to the head of his disturber, the man was already flipped around and making his way towards the exit. His head was covered with a black hoodie that was most likely a size too large, while his hands were shoved firmly in the pockets of his scruffy worn-out jeans. If it wasn’t for Ethan’s enhanced hearing, he wouldn’t have caught the, “’tis for you,” that the other person had muttered just after leaving Ethan’s side. He shoved the door open with a shoulder, using a bit more force than necessary, and hurriedly made his way out into the rain. The waitress didn’t even have time to welcome the newcomer, as by the time she rushed out from whatever back room she had been resting in, he was already gone.

Ethan shifted his gaze back down to the slim package as his hands slid across the paper in search of an opening. He already knew from experience what the package contained, so Ethan understood why he felt his fingertips twitch as they were greeted with the familiar tingle of awaiting anticipation. After ripping the tape that kept the slit shut, he pulled out what appeared to be an old Webster dictionary, but as he flipped open the cover, it was made clear that the book held something a little more sophisticated—and meaningful.

Ethan paused as he heard the subtle click of a door closing. He tilted his head upwards to see that the waitress had left the room once more, leaving him completely alone in the brightly lit coffee shop.

Even though nobody else was in earshot of the pending video that the device surely contained, Ethan knew that he should find a more private area. The last thing he needed was for someone to eavesdrop on the mission he was about to receive, which would only stir up unnecessary trouble. He could deal with the situation if he needed to, of course, but he would much rather not cause such an issue in the first place.

Getting up with the intention of leaving the premises, Ethan lifted the fake dictionary off of the circular table and moved towards the awaiting exit. Pushing the door open, he distantly acknowledged the bell that rang in the air whenever the door was moved from its residing position. He let the amusing thought of the waitress frantically making her way to the counter pass through his mind as his shoes hit the wet cement below. He also took notice in the fact that he left his caramel frappé on the table inside, but his priorities sternly reminded him that the awaiting mission was much more important when compared to some cool coffee.

He grabbed the slick handle of his black BMW with quick ease, the vehicle currently sitting right outside the shop, and climbed into the firm leather seat. Yellow street lamps made the light rain in the air glow dimly, almost making it appear as if tiny fireflies were falling from the rolling clouds up above.

Ethan slid the package down into the driver’s side door, twisting the keys and listening to the aggressive hum of the engine powering on. He revved once— _maybe_ twice—with a childish glee before taking off, not even bothering to check the speed limit. The blue lights lining the car’s front grill were most likely illegal, not that Ethan paid much attention to those types of laws.

With a fluid spin of the wheel, Ethan threw the car into the traffic that rounded the corner with little caution. He acknowledged the screaming honks of furious drivers with a cocky wave out the window, knowing that they probably wouldn’t even notice. His smooth yet speedy driving reminded him of when he first drove on the left side of the road. It had been a bit disconcerting at first, as the subject barely came up at all in his training. A young student, one who never made it out into the field, had brought it to the attention of the instructor in the earlier years, but the topic was only brushed over dismissively. While he had been teaching his own students a few years back, he was kept sure that his students would know how to drive on each side of the road with absolute and utter confidence.

Jerking the BMW over to the left, Ethan turned down a discreet and narrow alleyway—aware of how he cut off a couple other drivers in the process. He made sure that the location was segregated enough so that he wouldn’t be disturbed. While it was a bit cliché, watching a classified video in a dark and suspicious alleyway, Ethan found out early on that cliché was his style, no matter how many people he drove on edge because of it. And after all, his current spot was substantially more unobtrusive when compared to the previous location: the coffee shop.

The thrumming growl of the car’s engine was increased by the echoing brick walls that surrounded the isolated street. No lamps brightened up the creaky stairs that sat up above—the only source of light being the blue glow of the headlights that had yet to be switched off.

Ethan rubbed his hands on the sides of the leather chair, his fingers feeling for the seams before he finally flipped the keys in the ingnition. Once again, complete darkness washed over the alleyway. With a single swift motion, the package and its contents were laid out on Ethan’s lap, ready to be accessed. Discarding the yellow object, Ethan flipped the cover of the dictionary back open and squinted his eyes as the screen casted a dim blue glow across the front interior of the vehicle. He pressed his finger down on a needle that had appeared only seconds earlier, a subtle smirk spreading across his face as the computer accepted the results soundlessly, unlocking the contents hidden inside. The loading symbol that popped up was quickly swept away as a video started playing with only limited noise. Ethan held his breath, albeit unconsciously, as he anticipated the message that rested unheard of until now—or, at least, that was what he liked to believe.

For a wait that only lasted just a few seconds, Ethan already felt as impatient as a stray cat waiting to be fed. The video, once ready to play, began to light up the screen with text that followed a voice’s narration.

“Greetings, Mr. Hunt,” the video stated, the noise a familiar, yet stale, monotone voice that came from the more recent missions, “we have recently discovered that a new villain, one who goes by the name of Iron Man, has begun committing serious acts of aggression that pose a mortal danger to the public. An issue like this would normally not be assigned to the IMF team, but it appears as if the Avengers—a team of apparent superheroes led by the secret spy organization S.H.I.E.L.D.—have been unsuccessful in properly containing the villain.”

Ethan, with all of his training that assisted him in keeping up a noncommittal act, was able to hold back the unprofessional snort that threatened to leave his mouth. It wasn’t as if anyone would have heard it, but Ethan still found the sentiment to be humble.

”The Avengers appear to be growing more desperate and their methods of capture are becoming a little more reckless. While the organization director disagrees with this claim, we believe that it is necessary for the IMF team to assist the Avengers in discovering who this villain truly is—and to collect and contain him once and for all.” The screen flashed briefly with silent, civilian-caught videos and quick, hurried snapshots of the supposed supervillain—each version of media usually coupled with a consistent obscene hand gesture—and all of his flashy, obnoxious red metal suit. Ethan could tell just by the character’s arrogant movements that he was going to have some personality.

“This mission, should you choose to accept it, will also be assigned to your selected teammates: Benji Dunn, William Brandt, and Luther Stickell. But as always, if any members of your IM force are to be caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow all knowledge of your actions. Have a great day, Mr. Hunt. This device will self-destruct in five seconds,” the voice concluded, finishing the message off with a satisfied beep _._

Ethan leaned back against the chair, the breath he had kept deep within his lungs finally let loose. The device sparked not a second later, the smell of burnt material lingering in the air for a few moments longer. The rain continued to patter against the windshield as Ethan switched the car back on and rolled the window down partially, tossing the masked device outside with a nonchalant wave. He backed out of the alleyway with a skid of the tires and was soon out in the mess of traffic once more. He shamelessly failed to resist the urge that insisted how badass he would look if he put his sunglasses on and slid the pair he had in his door pocket onto his face anyway. He knew it wasn’t at all practical to wear dark shades during the night, but he had more important matters to ponder over rather than whether he should really be wearing some sweet shades or not.

With the quick and meaningless internal battle over, Ethan was able to focus on speeding around and ahead of the painfully slow cars that treaded on in front of him, ready to get started on the mission as soon as possible. He had forwarded the location to meet to his teammates the second his car touched the highway, and Ethan was assured by the fact that they might even be there, prepared, before he was. Once they were all together, they would make the flight to New York and meet up with these so-called superheroes. Then, after a complex plan was made—one that would probably sound a lot like: ‘IMF team fights, superhero team waits, IMF team wins without extra assistance’—the IMF team would be on their way again, ready to defeat any enemies that were ignorant enough to make an appearance.

After all, the arrogant men in the world were prone to making stupid mistakes. Why would this one in some metal suit be any different?

* * *

It wasn’t until Ethan and his team met up at the private airport did he realize that things were going to get a bit more difficult.

”They want us to fight with _who_?”

”The Avengers, Brandt.”

William was silent for a moment longer, but nobody failed to notice the way his face scrunched up in an expression that mimicked fury, nor did anyone miss the way his face reddened up like a ripe tomato ready to be squashed into its tastier counterpart: pizza sauce.

”I won’t do it,” Brandt decided, lifting his chin up and crossing his arms in a way that was not unlike a defiant, immature child.

”Why not?” Ethan and Benji both asked simultaneously, although Ethan’s query contained obvious frustration and was let out a little more vehemently when compared to Benji’s innocent wonder. Ethan also wondered why Brandt wasn’t informed of the new and temporary partnership in his own briefing.

”I wouldn’t even be able to look at him,” Brandt muttered in disgust, but the message was clearly more for himself rather than the others standing around him, each surrounding member feeling a mixture of different emotions.

”Look at _who_ , Brandt.” Ethan took a step forward, maintaining his already-established position as leader, and stared at William with his brows squeezed together, attempting to make eye-contact with the teammate.

”My brother,” Brandt finally admitted with a sorrowful tone, his face displaying a wide variety of emotions—most of them falling under the category of ‘anger’ and ‘hurt’. It was unusual for him to let so much leak through his normally-stoic expression, but it was obvious that William had suffered from past events and wasn’t willing enough to hide the vulnerabilities falling from his facial features. It was, nevertheless, a sign of trust, and the idea of it was enough for Ethan to feel a pleasant warmth spreading through his chest. However, he pushed it aside, as Brandt’s trust wouldn’t matter if he wasn’t out on the field with him and the team on the mission.

Ethan was about to speak, asking who his brother is and what he could do to prevent their interaction, but Luther beat him to it.

”Just avoid him,” Luther shrugged in suggestion, feet shifting as the weight of the pack on his back rested further on one shoulder. “You guys probably have a mutual dislike for each other, so the two of you trying to stay away from the other should mean little to no contact. It’ll be _fine_ ,” Luther finished, prepared for the team to conclude the conflict so that they could enter the aircraft.

Brandt’s gaze shot upward as he inclined his head. His lips parted, but no sound ever left his mouth as he mentally checked over his impending speech. With his mouth snapped shut, he lowered his head and dragged himself up the stairs and into the glistening aircraft. The remaining three casted glances at each other, all doubtful as they followed behind hesitantly, the group full of reluctance. Ethan hopped up last, his hands gliding across the railing before he stepped through the frame.

Luther was sitting up front, Benji only a few seats behind. Brandt, however, seemed glued to the back of the plane, where the lights were dimmed further. His head was pulled in a downwards shadow, his face drawn into an expression that matched one of deep thinking. Ethan debated whether to attempt to comfort his friend or not, but he soon came to the same conclusion that his teammates did: give the man some space. Personal issues were often not a hot topic, especially when the problems would most likely include some sort of twisted event that would much rather not be discussed. Ethan, with a bit of regret, moved down two rows of chairs and made himself comfortable. The plane’s size lacked practicality, considering how it contained only four passengers. The seats were doubled up, so each row consisted of four cushioned chairs whose quality was significantly higher than the general passenger plane’s.

After the aircraft was approved for takeoff, the door was snapped firmly shut and the plane jerked forward. Ethan pushed his head back against the cushion, inwardly hoping that the mission would end better than it had started out. He knew nothing of this brother William claimed to have, other than that he was a potentially shitty person. No background checks Ethan ran consisted of the mentioned family member.

Ethan pulled his laptop out of the black backpack sitting in the seat beside him, flipping the cover open and readying himself to do some more research on the Iron Man who seemed to be playing the role of a supervillain. Ethan never had to acquire more information than what was given from intel, but he always preferred to be prepared. With the laptop up and the secure browser popped open, Ethan went out to find more on what the man was like, and how to counteract all measures given by the villain.

With a dramatic pop of his knuckles, Ethan placed his hands on the keyboard.

* * *

Ethan, not for the first time, felt another wave of ominous foreshadowing not long after looking more into their target. Most villains had some sort of objective or purpose to their crimes and wrongings, but Iron Man seemed to cause harm only for his own enjoyment. His cataclysmic actions have drastically increased in severity, as stated previously, but Ethan had made simple assumptions that sat along the line of threats created with the sole purpose of riling everyone up. But after further discovery, Ethan found that the moves made by the villain were serious in a numerous amount of ways. For a single example: blowing up every ship—one-by-one—near the shoreline of Massachusetts, which resulted in costly damages and multiple casualties. Ethan knew that the media had a tendency to exaggerate on the details, but captured footage revealed that the terrorist-level event was truly as bad as the news made it out to be. They had no need to improvise on something that was already tragic.

The Avengers were sent out after Iron Man released a video of himself posing in front of the first-blown ship, but they were unable to prevent him from causing further damage, as the speed at which his suit could accelerate was much too quick for them to keep up with. Even once a member of theirs, one that goes by the name of Thor, was sent ahead, he could not stop Iron Man from destroying the ships.

Ethan took a relaxing deep breath, placing his sweaty face into the palms of his calloused hands. He was aware now that him and his team were really going to have to think hard in able to successfully accomplish their ever-growing task. Iron Man’s methods of entertainment were harsh and, despite how much he hated to admit, well thought out. He had no real motive other than to, in his words, cheer up his ‘sad and uneventful life.’ It didn’t benefit anyone how nobody, including Ethan, had no clue on who could possibly be hiding under that mask. Nor did anyone benefit on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s and the Avengers’ resentment at the idea of needing help. Even if they would most likely appreciate it in the end.

The plane had only a couple more hours before it made landfall in the state of New York. Ethan glanced up from his chair and twisted his body around, feeling the tug of his clothing against his skin. Brandt, unsurprisingly enough, was fast asleep in his chair. At first glance, he appeared to be rather calm, but a closer inspection revealed the furrowing of his eyebrows and the tensing of his jaw. His mind, alike many others who eventually made their way onto the field, was likely wrecked with nightmares and taunting visions. The brain’s ability to relive stressful situations was a large reason why Ethan preferred his eyes open and mind awake.

Despite his disliking for sleep, Ethan acknowledged that the action was necessary to keep himself in top condition. He had already plucked all data on Iron Man from the Internet and even from a little deeper, but there was little more he could do currently. He placed the device that sat warm on his lap onto the chair next to him, ready to be accessed again. Ethan let air fill his lungs and loosen his tight muscles, and made sure to keep his eyes firmly closed as he did so. He never favored sleeping in an aircraft, as so much could take a sharp turn, but he trusted his friends to bring him back to wakefulness in case of an emergency. As an added plus—in his opinion, at least—Ethan was a light sleeper.

But as his consciousness fell away, Ethan noticed another chill roll down his spine. In his drowsy state, he was almost able to convince himself that it was simply the air kicking up. But, if he asked one of the trained pilots, he would know by their denial that such simple thing never even occurred. Air temperatures on aircrafts were always kept level.

* * *

Once the aircraft landed and everyone made their way out onto the runway, the team was greeted by a man in all black who went by the name of Fury, as well as a couple of his agents. He claimed to be the leader of the alternative team that the IMF was supposed to work with, and Ethan could tell by the way his single eye burned dangerously that he was not at all pleased with it. The two agents wearing black—both standing tall next to him—were most likely there to make him appear more intimidating, but Ethan had already calculated a numerous amount of ways to get them onto the ground. _Permanently._

”Weren’t we supposed to meet the Revengers or whatever, here?” Brandt asked as if he knew nothing of his brother’s involvement. He also knew very well what the other team was called, as he had read their instructions many times over before the file finally blew up, but Brandt always found pissing people off to be amusing. It was obvious that his comment was successful in doing just that, as the man’s brows furrowed only further, which Ethan didn’t believe to be possible until then.

”Yes, but they are busy right now,” Fury grumbled with his hands twisted into fists. Ethan thought he even heard the man’s teeth grind, and Ethan wondered how long it would take until the man rubbed them down to the nerves.

Brandt leaned back on nothing, crossing his arms over his chest and opening his mouth with purpose, ready to speak again. However, Fury beat him to it, wanting only to get the repulsive meeting over with.

”You four will be staying in the compound, with the _Avengers_ ,” he stated, eye landing firmly on Brandt and studying him like some sort of predatory bird, “where you will stay out of the way while my team works. My agents will get you there, and if the Avengers wish to introduce themselves, then they will. But I wouldn’t count on it.”

”Wait, so you just want us to sit aside?” Luther questioned, his voice containing a rough edge. Ethan gave him mental kudos for doing the speaking for him, even though Ethan believed that he himself would be more successful in this conversation. “And do what?”

”Let my team do the work,” Fury snarled without addressing the query, unsubtly hating every one of them with an unbreakable passion, “I do not trust you or your team. You being sent here was a mistake. _They do not need your help_.”

Ethan decided it was finally time for him to take charge. ”Like it or not, _director_ , we’ll be working with your fun little group on this mission. Now you can either tell them to accept it, or we will be working against each other on this one. And I’m sure you would rather accept our help than have us use our abilities to _interfere,_ as I’m not sure how much more your ragtag superhero club can take.” Ethan hoped that making a point would assist in settling this sooner. He also ignored the quiet little ‘whoot’ that Benji emitted from behind.

Fury, in that moment, appeared as if he was going to sprout a gun out of his eye and mow them all down with deadly purpose. Ethan could even imagine the mechanics behind it, but the palpable sense of loathing broke his mind away from the entertaining thought and back into the moment, where both of the agents were holding back their director as he shoved himself forward with the intention to _kill_. Looked like those two had a reason to be there, after all.

”I’d recommend holding back on this one, director,” Ethan chuckled, amused and not at all concerned for his well being. “We’re only here to help your team, not to shame them or push them out of the way. We want this man gone as much as you do.” Ethan decided that reasoning might work, as pressuring hadn’t appeared to do so.

Fury huffed, seeming as if he wished his glare would cause them all to spontaneously combust. He pushed his agents aside as his face scrunched up in stubborn consideration, which almost made him look like an adult having an internal temper tantrum. Ethan already knew that he won this battle, as the posture of the man was defeated, although his expression said otherwise.

”Fine,” Fury grumbled almost inaudibly as he promptly made his way towards the black vehicle behind him. The agents stayed put, ready to transport Ethan and his buds to the compound. Ethan didn’t know where it was exactly, or why they couldn’t have just landed there to begin with, but he didn’t argue as his team was directed towards the back of an equally-as-black Acura. They had to squish themselves into the back, but there was only meant to be room for three—at most. Benji’s heel kicked Ethan in the knee as he attempted to move over him, which resulted in Ethan jabbing an elbow into his ribs. Benji choked in protest, scrambling himself hurriedly over into the middle seat.

Luther grunted as the door was shut, his shoulder digging into the window uncomfortably. He sat next to Brandt, who sat next to Benji, who sat next to Ethan, whose shoulder was also being pressed into the door. It was a tight fit, and the smirks from the two agents settled up front gave Ethan the urge to punch them both, repeatedly.

 _At least our packs fit in the trunk_ , Ethan thought in an attempt to be optimistic. Instead, however, it was a great pain, and Ethan decided to despise everything about the situation.

”We’re sorry we couldn’t get a bigger vehicle,” Agent Number One spoke from the passenger seat, “but this was the largest one we could find.”

 _Like hell it was_ , Ethan inwardly retorted, refusing to give the man and woman up front any satisfaction from their scenario.

”You sure?” Benji queried, asking the question that everyone else did not ask. Ethan had to refrain from elbowing him in the side again, but Brandt did not have such restraints. A noise of protest from Benji let the others know that the message was delivered. Benji sank into his cramped space, not making a sound. The two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents at least had the decency not to antagonize them again, each one keeping their gaze up front.

The rest of the car ride was silent, but Ethan still wanted to discuss the matters of their mission. They usually conversed before arriving on the spot, but the situation with Brandt prevented them from holding their briefing. They all were informed of the instructions and basic information, of course, but new info was in and Ethan wanted to look over the material again. The team occasionally gave him a hard time for the, as they dubbed them, ‘re-briefings’, saying that they were unnecessary and that everyone hardly ever followed the original directions. They usually had to, as Brandt would say, _branch out_ , and figure out new solutions to scenarios that were rarely what they first believed them to be. Ethan agreed with their arguments, but it gave him confidence to know that they were all on the same page.

The drive lasted just over thirty minutes, which only made the whole ‘biggest car we could find’ thing increasingly suspicious. The vehicle—an Acura MDX—did have _room_ , but it was far from spacious. Especially spacious enough for four people in the back seat only.

Once the vehicle finally rolled into the compound’s driveway, the team was already unfastening their restrictive seatbelts. After Ethan unbuckled his own seatbelt, he was able to twist and get a fine view of the Avengers compound. The structure consisted of mainly white, as well as the occasional grey, reflective window-looking frames. They passed through numerous security stations and cars before coming to a stop right outside the compound. Everyone else, more eager to remove themselves from the stuffy vehicle than to observe their new surroundings, leaped out of the SUV as quickly as possible. When Luther shoved his door open, he nearly fell out onto the concrete resting below.

”Careful there, Luther!” Brandt exclaimed as he pushed himself fluidly away from the vehicle. Benji followed behind, although a little less graceful than his experienced counterpart.

Ethan came out last, his head held high and his back straight, his heart beating with anticipation. One of the agents grabbed their packs out from the trunk, and Ethan accepted his own gratefully, tossing it around his shoulders. The breeze was just as gentle and refreshing as it had been around the coffee shop, where the mission had first began. Ethan could barely hear the trees that surrounded the compound as their leaves rustled restlessly, the wind grabbing and tugging at each little stem.

There was a quiet second of observation before someone finally spoke up. “We’ll just leave you be,” the female agent—dubbed Agent Number Two—said with a little hand wave, hopping back into the Acura with her hair flowing just behind. The remaining four spun around, the comment thoroughly unexpected and not one member anticipated the incoming results.

”You just want us to introduce ourselves to them?” Benji asked, his eyes widening with realization. “Alone?”

”What if they’re still busy?” Brandt questioned, genuine curiosity evident in his face.

”Then wait until they aren’t,” Agent Number One shrugged so nonchalantly that it ate at Ethan’s nerves. How did they expect the two teams to get along if they wanted to make it appear as if the IMF just stumbled onto their literal doorstep?

Without another noise, the door was slammed shut with a click. The car was steadily speeding away before anyone was able to add any additional words to the concluded conversation.

”Guess we get to give our new friends a hello,” Luther muttered without even attempting any enthusiasm. The whole team dragged themselves grudgingly up to what they assumed was the front door, as the twin garage doors were sealed shut and nobody had lifted one up for them when they arrived. Ethan stepped forward and observed the rectangular frame and its surroundings, searching for any areas where weapons could be sneaked inside and revealed later, during a more unceremonious time. However, he deemed the entrance safe and lifted his fist up to knock obnoxiously. But before his knuckles could come in contact with the white metal, the door flew open at such a speed that Ethan’s hair whooshed to the side. Startled, everyone took a step back and Ethan was inwardly thankful that the stairs were a couple cement blocks away. Nothing would have looked worse than tripping backwards from nothing more than an opening door.

Ethan, after a quick regathering of his bearings, was able to take a good look at the man towering over him with bold superiority. The man’s expression held a hanging, glowering look that was all but pleased, and his patience seemed to be radiating off of him in waves. Ethan was about to introduce himself despite the discomforting and unwelcoming atmosphere, but was unable to due to the man in front of him beating him to it with absurdly record speed.

Raising his hand out in front of him and basically forcing it into Ethan’s own, Ethan felt the sheer force of the man’s strength and took a true moment to recall who the man-tower really was. After all, the informative video never specified who exactly they would be working with. It came to him the moment the man started speaking, and the little gasp from behind only made things more humiliating from that second forward.

”I’m Captain America,” he spoke, authority ringing in his voice, each wave bringing on a new level of it. Ethan thought about responding, and he would have, if this Captain America would stop interjecting every time Ethan tried to introduce himself and his team.

”But you can call me Steve,” he finished almost tauntingly, his voice containing poorly masked frustration. It was evident that this Captain America—or Steve—was the man-in-charge, besides his own boss, the one-and-only _Fury_. It was also quite obvious that he was trying to be the better man, so that he could put himself above Ethan and his own crew. It rubbed Ethan the wrong way instantly, and he could already tell that the hardships were only going to get worse from then on.

The mission went from the top of the mountain, where everyone was filled with some sort or form of excitement, to tumbling down the slope nearly as quickly as Captain America could interrupt Ethan.

The whole team realized, then-and-there, that the hill was only going to get steeper, and the fall would only accelerate.


	2. Trapped and Won’t Heal

It was during his stay in Afghanistan did Tony realize that something about him had changed.

It started with his overall perspective, as well as his realization over the fact that, before his capture, he was quite oblivious when it came to the cruel hands and fangs of life. He had no knowledge on how to cope with true, and rather painful, hardships, and without his little cave partner, his life would have ended slowly within the first week. If Tony could summarize himself in the beginning of the whole situation, he would choose only one word: _pathetic_.

One of the first thoughts that passed so restlessly through Tony’s mind was the mass amount of weapons that made it into the palms of the wrong people. He went over and over the idea of shutting down the weapons division of his own company for numerous days on end, hopelessly believing that the deed would end the suffering caused by his creations and prevent further damage from harming others.

He had been foolish to believe such a thing.

The longer he remained in the chilling pit, the more he realized that the idea was idiotic at best. Tony scolded himself for letting something so worthless even enter his mind, and prioritized making sure that he refrained from doing anything similar in the future. He didn’t need to shut down the division, he needed to make it stronger; to make it so that, in the end, his weapons would turn on anyone who used them wrongly.

However, he soon realized that that, too, was incorrect.

He didn’t need to make the weapons that he created stronger, especially the ones that he sent off for others to abuse. He needed to _become_ the weapon, to be what he made, because only he could correctly use the destructive materials. The idea excited Tony, as he also discovered that it was the key to escaping the cave he was so desperately trying to remove himself from. It was no final decision that he would bring Yinsen with him.

Tony had grown a deep respect for Yinsen, despite his considerably negative original opinion that was derived mainly from the initial shock of the whole situation. After all, he was truly the only reason why Tony could still breathe—and that he still had a working heart to pump blood through his veins. Although both of which had been rather hindered before and during the process of repair.

A string of unmatched teamwork was what kept them working strongly and seamlessly until the very tragic, although somewhat gallant, end. Tony knew that something inside of him was altered even before their— _his_ —bold escape, but seeing his only friend and companion for three straight months dying on a table caused something inside of his mind to truly shatter. Seeing the man’s breaths hollow out and labor, his eyelids flutter, and listening to his final words being uttered all while being completely and painfully _helpless_ ; something of Tony’s was damaged beyond repair that day, despite his inability to admit it.

The mourning despair and loathing that washed and churned through Tony was a grand reason for the ruthless rampage that followed the incident. He felt no remorse for what he did to all of those men, as in his eyes, Tony viewed himself to be merciful for not having them suffer like they did to him during all of those days of torture.

But despite the negative view on the scenario, and all that Tony had lost, he still felt like he had gained something from the experience. He felt true potential radiating from the metal suit he crafted within the cave with no practical supplies, because if the initial Mark could bring down such a large amount of men, then what sort of damage could the fifth Mark do? Or the tenth?

Tony also thought of himself as more prepared, albeit his physical appearance after the escape had disagreed endlessly, every movement resulting in some form of hurt. He even viewed himself to be more aware, as Tony truly felt as if his mind had been brought into a new light, and a new perspective—as previously stated. When looking back at his former self, Tony saw only a small, cowardly man who feared the reality of life and hid from it in spurts of harsh working and fits of irrational partying, also including the other mechanisms he used to simply _get away_.

But Tony knew now that something else needed to change. His overall view on life had moved drastically, as before he felt as if he ruled the world, and that it was his to alter. However, the world as he viewed it now appeared to be some sort of game, one that needed to be played in a certain way, not unlike chess. Tony needed to make the right moves at the right times in able to succeed in his future plans, most of which containing some sort of coping mechanism that involved wrecking havoc and hurting others. While he never had a deep care for people before, his outlook on humanity had dropped spectacularly and Tony found that he no longer minded if they were to be mangled or broken. After all, he had given them so much: protection, weapons, a stronger military—but what he got in return? Scolding, disappointment, the media making him appear as some sort of mindless playboy who wanted nothing more in life but girls and money, the media comparing him to the worthless drunk that Tony was ashamed to admit was his father. In conclusion, the media was manipulative and Tony needed to do something about it, and sometime soon.

Thankfully enough for him, Tony still had so much time. After all, he only just got back from the burning flames of Hell, but he was ready to change the world—or in simpler words, to break it apart piece by piece, and allow others to experience the fear and hopelessness that he had felt so deeply. The thought, despite his better judgement, was quite entertaining to ponder over.

* * *

One of the first things Tony did when he got back to his Malibu home was enter the workshop. It was against his friends’ wishes, as they insisted repeatedly that Tony needed _rest_ and _a chance to recover,_ but Tony knew that they didn’t understand the importance of his new objectives. He had some work to do, and he wasn’t going to allow his depreciating body, and perhaps mind, to slow it all down.

Tony hurried down the stairs before anyone—apart from his own body—could protest. The glass door glimmered as it opened, and in that moment, Tony truly felt home. The smell of metal wafted up Tony’s nose and he welcomed it soundly. Tony sniffed in amusement as his bots came up to greet him eagerly, each one treading over his feet and beeping rapidly with blooming ecstasy. He patted them on their humming chassis and chuckled as DUM-E nearly fell over onto his front as he attempted to jump with pleasure. Tony missed the careless atmosphere that rested within workshop; the nonjudgemental zone where Tony could do whatever he pleased without interruption—as long as Pepper wasn’t involved, of course.

Tony sat down on a chair, kicking his heels as it spun and spreading his hands across the table laying in front of him. During his time away, some of the papers and supplies had formed a nice collection of dust. A layer sat upon each object, some places consisting of thicker layers than others.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.?” Tony asked in an awaiting manner. Before speaking, he had observed his surroundings and was comforted by the fact that nothing had been touched.

“Yes, sir?” J.A.R.V.I.S. responded, his accent bringing on a strong and eager tone that held a relieved edge, the relief seeming to cling to his voice. Despite not showing it clearly, it was obvious that J.A.R.V.I.S. had missed Tony more than anyone. His friends had purposes to serve besides taking care of Tony, but J.A.R.V.I.S. did not have such luxury. If Tony had been truly gone, J.A.R.V.I.S. would have had nothing left to exist for, excluding the bots.

Tony dismissed the rumbling hunger that disturbed his peace, the feeling coupled with the aches and pains in his body and the radiating discomfort surrounding the arc reactor. It was irritating considering that he ate a large burger not that long ago, but he assumed that his exhaustion plus the brief conference ate it all away rather quickly. He inhaled deeply, making sure to respond with defiant purpose, “I’ve got something new for us, J.A.R.V.I.S. Something _fun_.”

”And what would that be, Sir?” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied, albeit Tony swore he heard a hint of excitement in the A.I.’s voice.

Tony parted his lips, his response already prepared, but the click of the glass door opening broke his mind away from it. He spun around quickly, his eyes flickering in a strengthening panic that frustrated Tony to no end. However, it was only Rhodey, his own gaze containing a disapproving glare that was followed by a command that Tony thought sounded more like a threat. “You need to come upstairs, Tony. You are not just going to come back from the desert, starving and more than likely sleep deprived, and escape to your lab. Come on, we’re going up now.”

”But _Rhodes_ , I have things to do,” Tony whined, jutting his bottom lip out and slumping his shoulders. He hoped to gain some sympathy—after all, he assumed that he should be cut some slack after his newfound experience, but Rhodey’s expression remained unaffected as he swiped his arm up in a violent gesture. Tony sighed dramatically, standing up onto his legs. He realized a second too late that he no longer had the strength to carry himself off of the chair.

Rhodey was by his side in an instant, his hand curled around Tony’s back as he assisted in holding him upright. “God dammit, Tony,” he muttered under his breath, which Tony found quite amusing for some unexplained reason. He started giggling as Rhodey all but carried him up the stairs, and the laughter soon broke out into full-blown hysterics. He pretended to ignore the concerned glances that Rhodey shot his way.

Rhodey sat him down on the couch, scanning over Tony with a skeptical stare. He waited for his laughter to subside and crossed his arms over the t-shirt that clung to his chest. The growing pain in Tony’s chest forced him to regain his composure, his own eyes flying up to meet Rhodey’s. Tony expected some speech about keeping himself healthy and taking care of his body, but instead, be received only a soft comment, “You’re a lot lighter than you used to be.”

“Well, yeah,” Tony snorted, his eyes rolling as Rhodey stated the obvious. “I wasn’t exactly given feasts over there.”

Rhodey’s frown deepened for only a moment before it sprouted into a measly smirk. “Guess it’ll be easier to carry you around when you pass out drunk now”

Tony pondered over the idea for a second before responding, “Yeah, that won’t be happening. Not again, at least. I’ve got stuff to do now, Rhodes, got things that have to get _done_.”

“Well, you won’t be getting anything done right now. You shouldn’t have refused the physical exam when we first found you. You look a little beat up there, even though you’re probably numb to it at this point,” Rhodey replied, already making his way over to the fridge to get something. “What sounds good?”

“Nothing,” Tony said. “I just ate.”

“ _Liar_ ,” Rhodey exclaimed, his hands digging through the open appliance for food. “I heard your stomach growling.”

“You did _not_ ,” Tony retorted, denying the accusation with narrowed eyes.

“Fine, then,” Rhodey leaned back, casting a glance back over Tony’s way. “Then you’ll at least have something to drink.”

Tony grimaced as he himself tense up, his muscles rigid as an unpleasant memory replayed in his mind. “Uh, yeah, sure—just anything but water,” Tony stammered hastily, instantly feeling angry and frustrated with himself. He told himself earlier that he wouldn’t let anything that happened affect his demeanor, but it was obvious that his mind and body disagreed.

Rhodey didn’t respond, pulling out a Capri Sun that Tony didn’t even know resided in his fridge. He didn’t protest as Rhodey placed it on the table, allowing Tony to pick it up without complaint. Rhodes watched as Tony poked the straw through the hole and shook a sip. “After this, you’re going to bed.”

Tony broke away from the beverage with the intention to protest, but Rhodey kept him from doing so. “Nope, I already gave you a pass on the food. You’re getting some rest, even if I have drag you into your room.”

Tony’s mouth snapped shut, despite the displeasure at being told what to do. Nothing should stand in the way of his plans, but he couldn’t argue against the logic of being in his best shape before commencing his ideas. He also briefly wondered if Rhodey and Pepper would approve of his future actions, but soon decided that it wouldn’t matter, as long as they stayed out of his way.

* * *

 _Rough hands clawed at Tony’s back as they shoved him under once more. His entire body flared up in pain as his stomach pressed against the lid of the container. The contrast between the warm air around him and the numbing liquid that sat within the container was disconcerting, throwing his awareness off. The longer his captors kept him under, the more indiscernible the whole situation appeared, and the more his already limited self control was lost. Desperation flooded his mind like a plague and soon he was begging them to just_ stop _, and that he’d do_ anything—

Tony’s mouth flew open as he sat up with panicked abruptness. He threw his covers off and felt the thin fabric of his shirt with trembling hands. He unconsciously searched for the arc reactor’s presence and was given slight reassurance when his hands located the device. His eyes scanned the room for danger, and he was internally thankful that no one was present to experience the event. Tony’s breath stuttered as he greedily sucked in air, his hands flying up to rub the sweat rolling off his face.

“Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said urgently, concern and confusion lining his voice. Tony wanted to tell his A.I. that he was fine, that he was okay, but he found himself unable to do so. No words would leave his mouth, as it seemed to be coated in a thick dryness that no amount of swallowing would make disappear. Tony tried waving his hand in a dismissing gesture, hoping that J.A.R.V.I.S. would get the hint, but the attempt failed as J.A.R.V.I.S. alerted Tony of his actions. “I have awakened Colonel Rhodes. He is currently on his way to assist you, Sir.”

“ _J.A.R.V.I.S._ ”, Tony choked out, the pain and emptiness in his lungs still reminiscent. “You—”

The door was slammed open with such vehemence that it sent Tony’s heart pounding once again. “Tony?” Rhodey called, his eyes landing on the trembling form that sat tensely on the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Tony replied, but repeated himself when his voice cut off halfway through the word.

“I don’t think ‘ _nothing_ just happened, Tony,” Rhodey chided firmly. “J.A.R.V.I.S.?”

“It appears as if Sir just experienced a disturbing nightmare,” J.A.R.V.I.S. explained before Tony could protest. “One that impaired his ability to properly intake oxygen.”

“I—” Tony started, ready to deny the accusation with embarrassed passion when Rhodes interjected, even if a bit awkwardly.

“Uh, you know, I could stay with you if you like, Tones,” Rhodes stammered as a dawning realization came over him. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck with nervous energy. It was evident that he wanted to comfort his friend, but he wasn’t quite sure how to do so.

Tony, while he appreciated the gesture, was quite against the idea. “Um, no? I’d rather you not. In fact, I would like it if you would leave, like, right now?” Tony meant for the sentence to seem like a snapping comment, but it came out sounding more like a doubtful question than a sure command.

Tony would have loved to leave it there, with Rhodey stepping out the door with his head lowered in a defeated demeanor, but J.A.R.V.I.S. would not have it. “I believe that it would be beneficial to Sir if Colonel Rhodes remains in his presence.”

Rhodey paused, as if not sure how to proceed, but an angry, disapproving snort from Tony let him know that he was no longer welcome. He hurried through the door and closed it soundly, his heated footsteps quickly muted.

Tony threw his head back against his pillow with a pained huff, both of which were quickly followed by a groan when Tony was made aware of his growling stomach. He had grown quite used to being underfed, but when food was just in reach, Tony found the aching pains to be much more persistent than what he previously recalled. The relived memories also gnawed at his brain with a powerful chill, each event pulling his mind way from the present and back towards the Hell that he should have already escaped from.

Tony pushed himself up once again, keenly aware that he was not going to get any undisturbed sleep anytime soon. He reluctantly tossed himself off his bed, wincing at the numerous injuries that throbbed across his wrecked frame. He crossed the room to the door, attempting not to limp, and made it out into the hallway where a fresh wave of air hit his face. He breathed in the plentiful air with deep appreciation before heading towards the kitchen. Tony hoped that food would help put some distance between his thoughts and the recollections that prodded at Tony’s brain with sharp, little pricks.

Tony ate a slice of toast with a slow pace, washing it down his throat with a small glass of milk. After eating enough to let his hunger subside, Tony was able to move down into the workshop, even if against J.A.R.V.I.S.’s wishes. He already had a lengthy list of things to do, beginning with developing a new arc reactor to replace the unreliable cylinder residing in his chest, and to start drawing up new and improved blueprints for the Mark II. And after he was sure that he wouldn’t be dying anytime soon and that he had a powerful weapon to defend himself with, he would really start initiating what lay next in his wake.

But as he began doing such, J.A.R.V.I.S. silently pondered over whether his creator was making the right choices or not. J.A.R.V.I.S.’s initial optimism did not reflect on his new realization over his creator. His experience seemed to have impaired his decisions, even more so than before, and he wondered if sometime in the future, J.A.R.V.I.S. would have to step in to prevent his creator from making grave mistakes.

J.A.R.V.I.S. greatly hoped that he would never have to.

* * *

Tony pressed his back against the chair, his mouth twisted upwards into a smirk. He had finished the design for the new arc reactor, this one being much less likely to give out on him. The hologram glimmered blue as he swiped it away, telling J.A.R.V.I.S. to get it produced immediately. J.A.R.V.I.S. made no sound of acknowledgement, but Tony had no doubt that he would get it done.

But as the accomplishment glistened in his mind, another thought lingered darkly. Tony, while he would have loved to sweep the recurring reminder away, had to be aware of the fact that another person was necessary to properly install the new edition of the arc reactor. He hated, _loathed_ , the very idea of someone else intruding into chest and poking around inside of him, but he indignantly realized with little acceptance—and much reluctance—that he had no other option. While it would be mildly amusing to watch the bots make an attempt, he found that the result would very likely be catastrophic and perhaps lethal. But as he went over possible volunteers, a specific person stood out in his mind.

 _Pepper_.

She would be back to check on him later that evening, replacing Rhodes’ position, and would perhaps be able to assist him in the installation. While she was squeamish and would more than likely find the whole situation outright repulsing, Tony knew that she wouldn’t risk his life for her own preferences. And as an added plus, he could act dramatic and make everything appear much worse than it actually was.

Tony was also distantly aware of how he had thought little of Pepper ever since his reappearance. She had been in the back of his mind, yes, but had been more than short of a priority.

Tony took a moment to wonder how she would react to his whole living in the workshop thing. If she was the same woman as before Afghanistan, then she would be an obstacle that would be a bit harder to avoid than Rhodey. Rhodey, after a numerous amount of attempts and threats, often gave out and let Tony do his own thing. Pepper, on the other hand, was a truly terrifying beast that should be feared and never approached intentionally. It didn’t help that J.A.R.V.I.S., the traitor, usually took her side.

Tony, once he finished grasping whatever strength he could acquire, pushed himself to his feet. He had been making a strong attempt to eat regularly, letting the bots bring him numerous smoothies of alternating flavors, but the effort wasn’t showing quite yet. J.A.R.V.I.S. told him that his body needed time to heal, but Tony rightfully retorted that his body needed to pick up its pace for him to properly test the Mark II, which he was currently in the process of developing. J.A.R.V.I.S. hadn’t asked why Tony would want to create such a thing, but the query still hung empty in the air.

Tony let his knees tremble for a second before heading towards the stairs. He gradually worked his way up each one, listening to the encouraging beeps his bots were emitting from below. Tony would much rather have an elevator installed, but J.A.R.V.I.S. insisted that doing small exercises—such as moving painfully up a set of stairs—would assist in regenerating lost muscle tissue. Tony obliged, although he didn’t refrain from whining profusely the entire way up.

Once reaching the main floor, Tony wobbled over to the couch where he collapsed in a heap of gasping breaths, still shaking from the effort. His inability to climb a simple set of stairs left him irritated with himself, despite the numerous times J.A.R.V.I.S. told him that he should feel otherwise.

After some moments of catching his wheezing breath, J.A.R.V.I.S. informed Tony that the Mark II was ready for its finishing touches. Tony snorted with a mixture of differing emotions, most resembling that of disbelief, as Tony soon realized that he could have remained downstairs instead of huffing his way up to the main floor. But rather than taking the limited time remaining into consideration, J.A.R.V.I.S. let Tony struggle humiliatingly while he was aware of the little time needed before the suit was ready for the next steps.

Tony, his stomach boiling with unnecessary heat, quickly snapped at J.A.R.V.I.S. “And why didn’t you _tell me_ before I _crawled_ up those goddamn stairs?” Tony shouted, sure to sound uncomplimentary.

“Because I decided that the exercise would benefit your health, Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied smoothly, undaunted by his creator’s spatting. “I also believe that some solid food will assist your performance in the lab.”

“ _Benefit my health,_ ” Tony muttered incredulously, his brows furrowing in bewilderment. “ _Assist my performance..._ isn’t that all for me to decide, J.A.R.V.I.S.?”

“Affirmative, Sir, but it is my primary function to look after your wellbeing; a function decided by _you_ , Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. responded with unrelenting smugness. Tony shot the ceiling a resentful glare, but his lack of response was enough to know that he accepted the claim, no matter how reluctantly.

“Fine,” he sighed, defeated. “Then let’s finish up the eating part and get down there.”

After staggering slow and unsteadily back down the steps—an apple in hand, at J.A.R.V.I.S.’s asking—Tony sat himself back down and scanned over the data. The suit’s main design was ready, the material and placement of panels all decided. He would have to practice with just the boots at first, but soon he would improve enough that he could begin wearing the rest of the suit.

Once deciding the colors—a glimmering red and gold, perfect for Tony’s plans—Tony was notified by J.A.R.V.I.S. about an incoming guest.

”Mr. Stane has just arrived at the premises, Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. informed.

”Stane?” Tony questioned, confusion swelling up inside of him. “What’s he doing here?”

”He claims that he wishes to check on you, Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. responded. “He wants to be let in.”

”Alright, let him in, I guess,” Tony muttered, an unpleasant feeling coupling with his withdrawing confusion. Tony had a fine guess at why Stane was really here, and it was not to check on his wellbeing. Tony knew that Stane always found the business to be his top priority, so he would most likely be making sure that Tony would be sticking to the future plans with weapon development and not drifting off to do whatever else he wanted to accomplish.

Tony had also been actively avoiding Stane since his arrival back into the States. He wasn’t quite ready to begin creating weapons once again, and he didn’t need Stane pressuring him back into it too soon. Also, he had _other things_ that Tony wished to focus on other than the company.

As Tony finished his thoughts, the hologram disappeared as Stane walked down the stairs with a brisk pace. “Tony,” he smiled with a welcoming tone as he made his way through the entrance. “Happy to see you back on your feet. I was worried about you for a while there, you know.”

”Yup, I’m sure you were,” Tony replied with a cross of his arms and a swiveling of his chair. He wanted only to get the conversation over with, as he was sure that it wouldn’t be the most pleasant one he’s had since his return.

”Well, how are you feeling?” Stane asked, placing himself right in front of Tony. Tony felt a growing discomfort worm its way into his stomach. He subtly pushed his chair back with a small kick.

”I’m feeling fine, thanks,” Tony responded, stifling his need to start snapping or mumbling.

That’s great, Tony... but how do you feel about the company? Our stocks have taken a treacherous drop and our partners are growing impatient for something new. Things just aren’t the same without you, Tony,” Stane admitted, rubbing his forehand with a single hand.

Tony gritted his teeth as his former musings were proven correct. “I’ll get something ready soon, Obie,” Tony assured. He briefly considered telling Stane about the arc reactor, to help satisfy him, but Tony realized that the idea was foolish. He also knew that he would be revealing a vulnerability that he was not ready to expose, and that Stane was more than likely the wrong person to reveal it to.

”If you say so,” Stane chuckled, and Tony swore he detected something malevolent in his gaze. However, he dismissed it as Stane headed back towards the exit door. Tony glared at him as he left, snorting once Stane made a final call down the stairs. “I hope to see something soon, Tony!”

”Like hell you will,” Tony muttered once Stane was out of earshot, facing his desk again. The bots emerged from their hiding positions, still mysteriously shy around Stane, and rolled back over to Tony. The stress of the arc reactor, the development of the suit, Obie, and his own condition was enough to keep his muscles tense. Everyone always expected so _much_ out of him, so Tony knew that maybe it was time to really _give_ something to them—even if they weren’t truly aware of it.

Perhaps sooner then they’d think, Tony was going to show them something _wonderful_.

He was going to show them Iron Man.


	3. Hereafter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clear up any possible confusion, the scenes with Tony making the suit are all in the past. The stuff with the IMF and the Avengers is what’s currently happening.

Ethan allowed his team to be led though the complex. Steve presented each of their temporary residing quarters before moving further into the facility. Windows aligned many of the walls, letting in a variety of natural light. Ethan made an attempt to appear unimpressed, but the architecture was definitely superior to many of the other structures he had stayed in previously.

Each of their rooms consisted of a bed, a bathroom, numerous windows, and a closet. Unlike the other rooms, they lacked decoration of any kind and were rather plain—most of the walls and ceilings painted a dull white. This did not surprise Ethan, as he expected nothing more than the bare minimum, although the spaciousness caught him off guard. Most of the walls that were painted a bright white glared when they interacted with the sunlight let in from outdoors. Steve gave curt descriptions of each room as he passed by, but left many of the finer details out.

“This, here, is the kitchen,” Steve explained monotonously as if it weren’t blatantly obvious. “We eat here,” he added as a final and unsubtle jab.

“Do you fight your enemies with that mouth?” Brandt exclaimed with smug amusement. “No wonder why you need our help, Mr. Captain Obvious.”

Steve’s mouth thinned to a fine line, his eyes narrowed in a humorless fashion. “We do not need your help, William _Barton_. That was decided by someone with greater power and not so much smarts.”

“It’s _Brandt_ , mind you,” Brandt snarled through gritted teeth. His seething dislike for Steve oozed from his body language with powerful strength, his hands clenched and trembling in a violent manner.

Steve huffed but did not respond, instead continuing on with the silly tour. Luther whispered something into Brandt’s ear hastily, his eyes still fixed on Steve’s toned form. Brandt whispered back forcefully, his lips drawn back angrily. However, he took a deep breath and moved his shoulders back, returning to his previous nonchalant expression as he followed the group.

Once the brief tour of the complex was complete, each member of the IMF was allowed to return to their own quarters. They had already dropped off their luggage when they first made their way around, so they then moved on to the unpacking phase of the trip.

Ethan closed the door to his room, heading over to his belongings and pulling out his laptop. As the device booted up, he removed various other items from his bag, including disguised weapons, papers, and whatever else he found. Once the laptop was booted, he logged on and sent a message to the Secretary, notifying him of their arrival. Ethan dismissed the tempting urge to comment on the Avengers’ unprofessionalism, and his profound disliking of their Captain. Instead, he placed his laptop on a polished wooden desk and closed the screen.

Ethan disliked the large, reflective window that made up an entire wall of his room. Although the window let in replenishing natural light, he couldn’t fight the feeling that somebody could look in and watch him. And to make matters more disturbing, there were no blinds available to close off the view.

Ethan pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket, typing a quick text to his team. He wanted a chance to speak with them once again so that he could set perspectives straight. He also wanted to warn them of the dangers of getting on the Avengers’ bad sides, despite the temptation, as they were supposed to be working with them rather than arguing.

Brandt was the first to enter Ethan’s quarters, his arms crossed over his chest and an unamused expression pulled over his face. He was obviously still sour about Rogers’ performance, and was less than pleased about being taken from his own personal space.

“What’s up?” Brandt questioned, his tone slightly blunt and disrespectful. However, Ethan let it slide.

“I want a chance for us to talk,” Ethan replied, settling down on the covers of his bed.

“But we’ve already done that,” Brandt muttered tartly. “A ridiculous amount of times. I mean, seriously, wasn’t the debrief enough?”

Ethan was about to remind Brandt that Ethan was who decided whether they needed another debrief or not, but the click of the door opening prevented him from doing so. He heard the hushed whispers of Benji and Luther as they entered, the door sliding shut behind them.

“What’s the text about?” Benji asked, him and Luther taking places next to Brandt.

“Oh, you know,” Brandt sneered. “Another one of Ethan’s _debriefs_.” At that comment, Ethan had had enough. He shot to his feet and shoved Brandt against the wall forceful push, a resounding thump following the movement.

“Are you questioning my authority?” Ethan challenged, his eyes narrowed and concentrated on Brandt’s startled expression. Brandt’s brows furrowed furiously as he held eye contact for a moment longer. However, several seconds later, his gaze fell downwards and he muttered a defeated denial.

“Good,” Ethan stated in satisfaction, removing his grip on Brandt’s shoulders and backing off. Once the force was gone, Brandt slumped and sat on Ethan’s bed, his hands clenched tight as his weight sank into the mattress.

Ethan brushed off his jacket, twisting around to see Benji staring awkwardly at the floor and Luther shooting him a questioning look. Ethan dismissed their curiosity, however, and instead continued on with the intended discussion.

“I had a bit of hope when we first arrived here that their leader would treat us with a bit more respect,” Ethan said bitterly, his restless legs pacing across the floor. “That is obviously not the case. We’re going to have to try to keep our cool here, or we may have to be fighting more than just one villain.” Ethan glared at Brandt’s slouched form, his team member still refusing to look up. “No matter the family relations.”

“Of course,” Benji smiled, his demeanor containing optimism. “We’ll try our best.”

Ethan was about to dismiss them with a waving gesture, but a low grumble began to sound from outside. Ethan rushed to the window, each member perking up at the noise. The sound grew louder as a bright form drew closer to the complex. After the sun’s glare was masked by the structure, Ethan made the figure out to be some sort of aerial machine.

The large, grey aircraft landed beside the compound, the rumbling eventually slowing until it disappeared entirely. Brandt, closest to the door, darted out to the hallway, the rest of the team following. Ethan heard the sound of footsteps running down the hall, the loud thumping likely caused by the Captain.

The IMF followed in quick pursuit. They ran into what the Captain called the living room, which consisted of furniture, an HD TV, and many more windows. The team passed through the room hurriedly, only stopping when they heard the sound of a front door opening and echoing chatter.

Ethan listened closely and attempted to make out their conversation. His hand gripped the corner of the wall, his body hidden from the door. Everyone else had their backs pressed to the wall behind him, each person remaining silent.

“—they here yet?” asked a feminine voice.

“Yes,” Rogers responded affirmatively. “They arrived here earlier today.”

A quiet curse sounded from the doorway. Ethan began to feel a rush of cool air waft from the hall, the chill followed by a slam of the front door.

“Where are they?” a male voice questioned. Ethan felt Brandt tense next to him, his anger radiating off of him in waves.

No response followed. Instead, the sound of footsteps proceeded the question, pushing the team back from their eavesdropping positions. They seated themselves on a leather couch, their postures nonchalant. A moment later, a group of four people entered the room, led by the Captain. They stared at the IMF accusingly, but the IMF returned the gesture with innocent expressions.

“So you must be the Avengers,” Ethan assumed, a deceivingly friendly smile on his face. He stood up from the couch and placed his hand in front of him, inviting each member for a handshake. However, no one took the bait.

”This is our team,” Steve stated monotonously. He continued after taking a step back. “Natasha, Bruce, and Clint.” Each member gave a small nod in response to their names being spoken.

“How nice,” Ethan grinned, letting his empty hand drop to his side. He distantly noted the absence of the hero who went by the name of Thor, filing the knowledge away for later. “Here, we have Luther, William, and Benji. We’ll be the ones working with you on your missions.” As Ethan introduced his own team, he took notice in the bitter glares being sent from Brandt to Clint, the latter reciprocating the gesture. The mutual link of loathing was broken after Ethan made his claim.

“Wait, that’s not what we were told,” Clint said irritably. “We work alone, you guys wait at the sidelines.”

“I’m afraid that’s not how it’s going to work,” Ethan shrugged dismissively, sitting back down on the couch. “We both received orders stating that the IMF is to assist the Avengers.”

“You can help us by staying out of the way,” Natasha spoke, her expression blank and calculated. Before Ethan could shoot down her statement, she turned and headed towards the kitchen, her posture stiff and straight.

“What she said,” Barton muttered, his fixated glare not leaving the team until he left the room, following in pursuit of Natasha.

Bruce, having yet to say a word, shoved his hands on his pockets with his gaze shifted downwards. He ran a hand through his hair as he left in the direction of the living quarters, hurriedly trying to avoid the awkward encounter. Steve, with a final sigh, opened his mouth to say what would likely be more worthless nonsense, but was interrupted by an alarm that echoed throughout the compound. Instantly, he straightened his back and made his way towards the front door. With a final look back, he hissed, “Don’t intervene.”

Once he was out of sight, Luther snorted and got up, the rest of the IMF quick behind. The other three members of the Avengers were swiftly out the door, and Ethan could tell that they were about to leave them behind.

“Come on, we’ve got to get on the aircraft,” Ethan huffed, feeling for a weapon on his person, and nodding in satisfaction when he located a pistol. It wouldn’t be much, but there wasn’t time to grab another weapon. Next time, he’d make sure that his team would be ready for a call like this one.

The IMF was out the door in mere moments, the jet-like aircraft yet to leave the landing pad. They hopped through the open door, drawing a bitter snarl from one of their team members. Ethan wasn’t sure which one, as they were all busy prepping their gear. Bruce was working at the controls, and after a swipe of the holographic screen, the door behind Ethan slid shut with a hiss.

“Strap yourselves in,” Bruce called, gesturing with a wave to the row of black seats aligning the wall. The rest of the Avengers were already in the process of restraining themselves, the IMF following quick in pursuit.

“Iron Man’s flying over Manhattan,” Bruce stated. “We’re heading there now.”

Once everyone was strapped in, Ethan gave Steve a solid glare. “We’re working together,” he stated boldly, leaving no room in his voice for argument. Steve’s eyes narrowed a fraction, his grip on his shield tightening. Ethan didn’t care. All he wanted was for the stubborn, resenting Captain to accept the IMF as part of their team.

Just as Steve was about to send another denial their way, Natasha stepped in. “Just let them help this once,” she suggested, face stony and cold. “If they end up being useful, they can help more. If not, we’ll keep them out of our way.” The last part was said with a not so subtle hint of warning.

Steve looked so startled with disbelief that Ethan almost couldn’t stifle his snort in time. Benji obviously had similar troubles, if his sudden, awkward cough was anything to go by. Her change in perspective was unexpected, but still welcome.

Finally, Steve inhaled deeply. “Fine,” he nearly spat, eyebrows furrowed sourly. “They help us once, but _any_ mistake, and they won’t be granted another chance.”

Ethan gave a mental cheer of victory, sending a small nod towards Natasha. She purposely ignored it, and Ethan mused that she likely only assisted them because she was tired of their bickering.

Soon, the two teams would be on the battlefield, and they’ll each see how effective they’ll work together.

* * *

Tony began with the schematics of the suit.

He needed a design that would accommodate his body, while also being able to sustain considerable weaponry and damage. He needed a suit that could take the brunt of the force, leaving him in one piece, but creating something lithe yet strong was much more difficult than Tony anticipated.

Luckily, Tony had J.A.R.V.I.S.

J.A.R.V.I.S. was able to propose designs that could be potential candidates. Tony would review them, modify them, and perhaps deem them as possible prototype models. Some of the suits J.A.R.V.I.S. offered Tony cancelled immediately, swiping them away from his screen with a dismissive hum. Whether it be because of an unrealistic design, or an egregious flaw that affected the suit’s performance severely, it was likely enough for Tony to consider it unworthy.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Tony called without pausing his scan of a projected prototype design, one with features taken from previous proposals.

“Yes, Sir?” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied swiftly, anticipation lacing his tone.

“I like this one,” Tony declared, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. “I say we try it first.”

“As you wish, Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. responded. “I’ll begin production immediately. However, Sir, I advise that you restrain from operating the device until your injuries have healed.”

“If I followed your advice all of the time, I’d never do anything fun,” Tony snorted, acknowledging the new progress bar that appeared on the screen.

J.A.R.V.I.S. sighed sarcastically from the speakers, seemingly about to speak, and Tony felt warmth at the sassiness that J.A.R.V.I.S. seemed to have unintentionally developed. However, before J.A.R.V.I.S. got the chance to, the sound of footsteps came from the stairs that led to the workshop.

“Dinner time, Tony,” Rhodes called, giving Tony an expectant glare. “You need to come up.”

“Do I?” Tony questioned, looking up at the ceiling as if in thought. “Can’t I eat down here?”

“ _Tony_ ,” Rhodey said, his voice drawn out and stern, as though speaking to a difficult child. “You need to socialize with your friends. Come on, Pepper and Happy miss you.”

Tony was about to let out another petulant whine, but an angry shout from Pepper upstairs sent him hopping out of his chair. “You got it, Platypus,” Tony spoke hurriedly, making his way towards the stairs. He nearly tripped over one of his bots in the process, narrowly avoiding a claw.

Rhodes stood at the bottom of the stairs until Tony was by his side. Together, they walked upstairs, Tony still struggling to get to the top. The majority of his wounds had healed, but he was still constantly achy and in a state of paranoia. Tony figured that working on his project would successfully distract him from his newfound fears, and he was correct. However, this led to long, outrageous hours spent in his workshop, much to everyone’s disapproval.

Tony collapsed onto one of the chairs surrounding the table, his eyes searching for whatever their dinner would be. His appetite had been a fickle thing lately, but J.A.R.V.I.S. informed him that without eating, he wouldn’t let Tony pilot the suit. After the threat, Tony grudgingly agreed to eat every meal, despite his finicky appetite.

Pepper and Rhodey went into a talk about something or another after serving spaghetti, but Tony didn’t bother to listen. Instead, he thought about his recent trouble involving Stane wanting him to continue his weapon manufacturing. Couldn’t he realize when somebody needed a bit of time to recover?

His second issue consisted of the suit and how he’d keep it from everyone. It would be a bit difficult to keep it from Rhodes, Pepper, and Happy, and if he wanted to start blowing stuff up for the hell of it, he was sure that he’d need to keep it hidden from them. Perhaps he needed to install another level to the workshop, one known and accessible to Tony only.

Needless to say, Tony was mildly guilty to be thinking of betraying literally the only people to have ever seriously cared about him. Especially Pepper, who was letting her Stark Industries work accumulate just to make sure that he was okay. He was already beginning to doubt his plan about wrecking havoc among cities. After all, the idea was developed while he was in a mad haze after Afghanistan. He hadn’t quite been in his best mental state.

Once Tony finished his plate of food, he rushed as quickly as his body would allow him to towards the stairs before either Rhodey, Pepper, or Happy could protest. He took his quest down said stairs a little slower, still eager to reach his workshop. Once he entered, he ordered J.A.R.V.I.S. to switch on the television, as well as checking the progress of the suit. Still in early stages of development. Disappointing. Then, Tony settled onto his couch, switching through channels until a certain news station caught his eye.

Destruction was colored on the screen, the sound of gunfire in the distance. The headline was named, _Village in Afghanistan Attacked by Nearby Terrorist Group_. However, it wasn’t that part that caught Tony’s attention. It was the symbol on the terrorists’ clothing, and the next word uttered by the newsman.

“... _village in Afghanistan, Gulmira, has recently..._ ”

Tony felt the color drain from his face in a sluggish, teasing fashion. He could hardly notice the trembling of his hands, or the sweat accumulating on his forehead. His heart pounded in his chest as his breathing quickened, each breath and beat sending spikes of permeating pain from the arc reactor. However, he didn’t even feel it.

Gulmira. The word settled painfully in Tony’s ears, each harsh syllable enhancing the fright in Tony’s brain. It had been the town where Yinsen’s family had lived. Where _Yinsen_ had lived. And it was being attacked by the very group that blasted shrapnel into Tony’s heart, and nearly twisted his mind into something unrecognizable.

“Sir?” J.A.R.V.I.S. asked worryingly from the ceiling, detecting the abnormal rise in Tony’s heart rate.

At first, Tony couldn’t respond, couldn’t think. All he could feel was the swirling mass of rage and loathing that settled into the pit of his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to blast them all to pieces, scattering their remains amongst the sand in the desert to waste away.

“Up production levels for the suit, J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Tony snarled, although his voice was shaky and quaking. Tony could sense J.A.R.V.I.S.’ hesitance as he was about to question him again, so he silenced him with a quick, “Mute.”

All previous doubts about Tony’s plans vanished. He was going to _burn_ these people for the grave mistakes they have made. Hereafter, he would do whatever it takes.

* * *

It was quite obvious when the team arrived at the site. Smoke rose from numerous buildings, each one filled with frightened people, desperate to escape. The quinjet hovered over the scene, Bruce scanning for a place to land. A cleared out intersection rested below the aircraft, and Bruce carefully maneuvered it into the space, perhaps dinging a few poles on the way. The passengers quickly undid their seatbelts, lifting from their seats and racing out the opening door.

“Call me if you need some extra support,” Bruce assured as the door closed, tapping at his earpiece. Steve nodded, lengthening the space between him and the aircraft. Then, the quinjet launched into the air, surveying the scene from above. The IMF didn’t share the earpieces that the Avengers did, so the words that each of the three other members spoke made very little sense.

“I’m going to get to some high ground,” Clint said as he readied his bow. Then, he took off without another word, heading towards the entrance of another building—one that didn’t contain flames.

Ethan spied the sky for the flashy red and gold suit that had played on his laptop screen. The rest of the Avengers and the IMF did the same, running towards some debris for cover. Yet, no matter how hard they looked, nothing disrupted the calm clouds that dotted the soft blue sky. Luther looked at Ethan with a puzzled expression. “Maybe we missed him?”

Ethan nodded in response, casting a glance over at the Avengers. None of them paused their searches, each one still gazing up at the clouds. It almost appeared as if they were searching for shapes among the clouds in the sky.

Suddenly, a loud blast sounded from above Ethan, sending concrete and rocks barreling down towards him. He let out a shout of surprise and rolled aside, narrowly avoiding a chunk of debris. Then, laughter came from above. Ethan put his hand above his eyebrows when a glint came into his vision.

“I was wondering when you’d show up!” Iron Man sneered, his voice slightly distorted by the suit speakers. His suit flaring brightly in the sunlight, a stark contrast against the blue and grey sky. “And I see you’ve got yourself some friends this time, Cap! Did Pirate Fury finally realize that your superhero fan club wasn’t working?”

“That’s enough, Iron Man,” Steve yelled scoldingly, shield drawn to his chest. “These people haven’t done anything to you. You don’t need to hurt them.” He gestured towards the many spectators looking out from the buildings.

“You’d be good at pep talks,” Iron Man admitted, shifting to the right with his thrusters. “Maybe you should host a few.”

“This isn’t a game,” the Captain shouted, the villain finally getting on his nerves. His teeth were clenched so tightly that Ethan wouldn’t be surprised if he would have a headache later. “This is serious. Hurting people isn’t funny. You need to stop.”

“Your age rubs off on your personality. It makes you _boring_ ,” Iron Man accused, giving the last word a drawling tone.

Without warning, Steve sent his shield flying towards Iron Man. He jerked in surprise, darting sideways quickly enough to only receive a glance on the shoulder. Ethan was sure that if he didn’t have the helmet on, he would have heard a startled yelp.

The shield suddenly swerved midair, landing right back into Steve’s hand with a clang. His shoulders straightened and chest puffed outwards with pride that rivaled all of America. It sent shivers of exasperation racing down Ethan’s spine, but he kept his mouth sealed for everyone’s sake.

While Steve had thrown his shield at Iron Man, Natasha had been working her way behind the villain. Natasha was gripping some odd, small device while Clint silently readied his bow from an opened window above her. The IMF focused on keeping their eyes on Iron Man and away from the two assassins in order to avoid drawing attention to them.

“You need to work on that swing,” Iron Man snorted, pretending that he wasn’t hovering just a twinge higher.

“You need to work on that mouth,” Brandt retorted with an amused huff. Ethan saw the corners of Benji’s and Luther’s mouths twitch upwards.

All of a sudden, to Ethan’s dismay, Iron Man jolted around and sent a repulsor blast flying at Natasha and her teammate. Both had been unprepared to be detected, Natasha barely dodging away from the blast in time while Clint leaped from the window. He landed with a rough roll, the impact appearing to be at least moderately unpleasant. The black device that Natasha had been preparing fell promptly to the road, quivering as it released streams of energy in the newly made crater.

“You’re all so predictable. It’s almost sad. Maybe you should come around sometime, and I could teach you something about sneak attacks,” Iron Man sighed obnoxiously, attempting to lean back midair as if to appear relaxed.

The IMF exchanged looks, as if saying to each other, _This is what we’re dealing with_? Ethan took a step forwards, wanting to keep the villain occupied before he wandered off and started making more trouble elsewhere. However, before he could even comment, Brandt ripped a gun from his belt and shot acutely at Iron Man. It was merely a desperate attempt to attract his attention, as the bullets merely ricocheted off of the armor.

“That’s cute,” Iron Man taunted with false praise, drawing missiles from his shoulders. “You’re like a pack of kittens. Harmless, but still mildly annoying.” Without a second to spare, the missiles launched from the suit, leaving behind trails of smoke.

Everyone hurtled themselves away, Steve and Luther almost barreling into each other. Ethan looked back just in time to see an arrow lodge itself in one of the suit’s legs. A small explosion sounded from the air, followed by a rush of air as Iron Man tried desperately to make up for the lost power with his hand thrusters. However, the attempt was fruitless, as unbalanced as he was. He quickly made an ungracious descent and landing that almost sounded painful.

Ethan was on his feet in an instant. On the ground, Iron Man lost his advantage of range, and Ethan was going to take his chance. Once he was in striking range of the villain, a sudden force tackled him to the ground. He jerked his elbow upwards in disbelief to see Natasha holding him down. Thinking that he had been betrayed, he instinctually referred back to his training, using his leg to knee upwards, trying to force the weight off of him. Natasha lifted the lower portion of her body for a second, only to pin it back down in a position that made things more difficult for Ethan.

“What’re you doing?” Ethan finally hissed, looking around for his team members.

Natasha’s gaze betrayed nothing, but the sound of metal on metal caused her to look upwards. Ethan used that moment to shove his arm into Natasha’s chest, attempting to knock the air out of her lungs. She let out a frustrated exhale as she backed off of Ethan.

“Fighting him without a weapon is useless,” she stated to Ethan. “I’ve tried. It’s like he can detect what you’re going to do even before you do it.”

Ethan eyed her suspiciously, taking her words in thoughtfully. He glanced back over at Iron Man, who was currently firing repulsor blasts at a determined Captain America, who deflected each shot with his shield. His heels scraped the ground as the force pushed him backwards. Brandt, Barton, Benji, and Luther watched from the sidelines, the latter two sending concerned looks at Ethan. Embarrassment filled Ethan’s core as he realized that he was successfully tackled and subdued by someone who weighed much less than him—and that his team had _seen_ him.

“You’re a coward,” Steve spat at Iron Man, holding his shield out protectively in front of him. “You only fight when you’ve got the advantage.”

“You’re a coward,” Iron Man parroted. “You fight for a silly government organization that is full of employees with childhood issues. I would expect more from someone who was supposedly fought in a war awhile ago.” Iron Man then shrugged matter-of-factly, “I guess that’s what happens when you’re a popsicle for seventy years.”

Captain America took aim, his shield flying with ferocious accuracy. Iron Man ducked, knowing that trying to knock vibranium aside was fruitless. Afterwards, he twisted around and shot at the shield, knocking it off course, the acquired momentum sending it away. In that fleeting second, Steve was by Iron Man’s side, wrapping a strangling arm around his neck. With his uninjured leg, the villain kicked back at Rogers’ knee, unbalancing him. Both fell to the concrete, and Ethan surprisingly found himself cheering for the Captain.

Just as hope was beginning to arise, Iron Man jabbed a sparkling object into Steve’s abdomen, although not piercing his skin. The device appeared to be jutting out from his arm, a metal flap open to let it loose. Steve’s body erupted with a serious of jerks and seizures, his muscles contracting uncontrollably as a powerful shock raced through his body.

Iron Man stood up, using his remaining thrusters to launch himself into the air. Without the original waves of unbalanced air he had fought with before, he was able to get himself into the sky. One of his boot thrusters stuttered and wavered, but Iron Man continued to gain altitude. Clint grabbed one of his arrows and shot it towards him while the remaining heroes shot bullets, aiming towards his boots. They fired until they were either out of ammo or until Iron Man was nothing more than a speck in the air, as unfortunately, he was still much too quick.

“Where’s Bruce?” Clint called frustratingly, his demeanor irritate as he fiddled with his earpiece.

“I don’t know,” Steve panted, rising with shaky limbs. “I think Iron Man hacked our comms. Nothing’s going through.”

“Well that’s just great!” Barton shouted, hands thrown over his head. “We had him! We had him _grounded_!” He suddenly rounded on the IMF, pointedly glaring at all of them. “What did you guys even do? You all just stood there!”

“We couldn’t do anything,” Luther claimed. “My specialty’s computers. Ethan is good at on ground fighting, and Benji—“

“I knew this would go terribly!” Benji laughed before Luther could finish, a hand over his forehead. “We had no organization, whatsoever.”

“It’s true,” Ethan agreed. “We can’t do anything if we don’t plan first. We need to work together, teaming people up depending on their strengths. This can work if we could just get some teamwork involved.”

Natasha and Clint watched Ethan calculatingly, musing over his words. Steve nodded slowly in agreement, thoughtfully going over Ethan’s statements as well. _It’s about time were taken seriously,_ Ethan inwardly muttered, spying the sky for the Avengers’ aircraft.

A silhouette came into view from the buildings, the outline alight with reflective sunlight. Everyone backed away as it dropped altitude, landing done cautiously by Bruce. Once the aircraft was powered down, the group made their way over to the opening door. Bruce stepped through, confusion evident on his face. “What happened to you guys? The comms were down the whole time!”

“Iron Man,” Captain America deadpanned bluntly, moving past Bruce with the strength of defeat weighing him down. Bruce just watched as everyone strapped themselves in, finally exhaling and rubbing his temples as he went back over to the pilot’s seat.

“It’ll go better next time,” Ethan promised, hoping that his confidence rubbed off a little onto everyone else. “We’ll have a plan, and with our combined forces, we’ll take him down.”

This time, rather than his statements being met with dismissive glares and disbelieving snorts, the response was quite determined. Each person in the aircraft accepted by nodding curtly back at him, everyone finally realizing that perhaps, egos should be put aside for once—if only for the sake of the cities and civilians at risk of encountering Iron Man himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Title based off of the song _Little Poor Me_ by LAYTO, which can be found [here](https://m.youtube.com/watch?feature=youtu.be&v=0CnZh8wnAwo).


End file.
